Demon Angel

why you still serve."
    Roaring in her ears as he left the room. Blood in her mouth.
    "Is this what you wanted, Lilith? Are you proud of what you've done?"
    She did not know if Michael spoke, or if it was an echo of her last failure. But the answer—the true one—was the same.
    No.
    He was not there to hold her this time.
    The tile floor was cold beneath her legs; she couldn't stop shivering, though the window was open and the breeze warm. Her knuckles no longer bled, but she could still taste it.
    No. She closed her eyes. Honesty with herself, at least—it was not the blood that had made her sick.
    "You did well, daughter. Tore out his heart without lifting a knife. Smashing performance!"
    Wearily, she looked up. Still the retired gentleman, Lucifer perched on the commode, patting his hands together. A golf clap. She shook her head, laughing at the absurdity; he had no claim over her, could not command her attention. "Did you climb up the tree?" She waved toward the window, wiped the tears from her cheeks. "It bears no fruit, and you have nothing with which to tempt me."
    "Not even the lives of four boys?" Quickly, he shifted through four different forms before returning to the original.
    Her back straightened. "You broke the terms—"
    "No, no," he chuckled. "Your Guardian guessed correctly; the nosferatu grew impatient. They do not know how to stand and wait."
    "They waited in caves for thousands of years," Lilith said dryly, climbing to her feet. "Perhaps they simply lose faith in you. Or they worry, because two humans managed to kill your lieutenant."
    A flash of anger and heat before he was smiling again. "Regardless, it is a simple message I deliver today: you perform the ritual, kill the Fallen one—or the boys die."
    So that he would have Caelum; her eternal Punishment paled in comparison to that gain. "You already lose control of the nosferatu; I can hardly accept your word that they won't kill them if I comply."
    "You have little choice. But do you immediately tell them he will submit to the ritual, and make his students' continued living a condition of that submission, they will likely delay." He pursed his lips. "For a day or two."
    Her jaw clenched. There was little choice if he did not lie about the boys being taken. And he was making certain the ritual would take place before the wager expired.
    Hugh would sacrifice himself for a hypothetical danger to them, and for her soul; she would sacrifice him for the reality. Cut into him, kill him. Little wonder Lucifer was content for her to fulfill her bargain. Even if the act was brief, and her life not much long after… She could not imagine a worse torture.
    As if he felt her acquiescence, he smiled. "I am pleased, daughter. Him, I expected—it is his nature to risk all for those he loves. But you cannot hurt them without making yourself sick. You tear him apart, only to puke from it." His lip curled. "Look at you. You embarrass me."
    She tucked Hugh's shirt closer around her torso. "I'll be certain to wear this in front of your new subjects then, and call you 'Daddy.'"
    A pile of clothes landed at her feet. "Appearances are everything. Do not disappoint me, Lilith." He leaned toward her, and she had to resist the urge to turn, flee. "And a little surprise."
    A dagger appeared in his hand; she recognized the hilt.
    Hugh's. The knife she had tried—and failed—to use on him in the temple. She raised her eyes to his. "Why?"
    "I know you appreciate drama." He smiled coldly. "It adds a certain flair."
    Carefully, she took the blade.
    "Ah, Lilith," he said. "You're such a good girl."
    She blinked; he was gone. The curtains fluttered at the window, and she hurried over to close it. Not that it would keep him out. He must have been using some kind of magic to prevent the others from hearing or sensing him. She touched the sill, and her eyes widened. The three symbols carved there: silence, surround, lock. A drop of blood in the center of each one. She destroyed them with a slash of the dagger.
    "—LITH!" Hugh's frantic voice. He crashed through the door, Sir Pup on his heels; Michael teleported in, sword blazing. The hellhound leapt through the window, shifting to fit through the small space. After a quick glance around the room, Michael disappeared.
    Hugh lowered his sword and was at her side in two long strides. His face was dotted with perspiration, his breathing rapid. How long had he been trying to get in? "Are you well?"
    Was she? "I'm not